Danceoff at the John Q Adams Middle School
by embroiderama
Summary: Sammy’s inordinately interested in whether or not Dean’s attending the sixth grade dance.


Title: Dance-off at the John Q. Adams Middle School

Author: embroiderama

Characters: Dean, Sam, John

Rating: PG

Warnings: sugar shock?

Spoilers: none

Word Count: 716

Disclaimer: None of the Winchesters belong to me, alas.

Summary: Sammy's inordinately interested in whether or not Dean's attending the sixth grade dance.

Notes: This is a holiday-present ficlet for wenchpixie.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean looked up from his homework to see his little brother standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "What's up, Sammy?"

"You're going to that dance, right?"

"What dance?"

"You know--that dance at your school next week. You're going?"

"No way!" Dean looked back down at his work on the table, missing Sam's disappointed frown. "How do you know about it anyway?"

"Ummm, my friend Tommy Oliver's brother Nathan is going, and he's in sixth grade, too. He said it's a special dance just for sixth grade, so I thought you were going, too."

"Dude, no way. Dances are for girls and losers."

Sam pulled out the chair opposite Dean's and knelt on it, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Is Tommy's brother a loser?"

"Nate Oliver is a gigantic loser."

"Why?"

"He was born that way? I don't know," Dean sighed.

"I mean, how is he a loser?" Sam cocked his head to the side, way too interested in the mystery of how his friend's brother could manage to be a loser.

"Dude, he just is, seriously. You ought to stay away from his brother just in case it's catching."

Sam's eyes widened in horror. "But I like Tommy!"

"Well, I'll guess you'll just have to take that risk, then."

"But why won't you go to the dance?"

"Even if I wanted to go, which I totally don't, Dad wouldn't let me go anyway."

"Did you ask?"

"No."

"Could you ask? Could I ask for you? " Sam jumped down from his perch on the chair, as though he wanted to run outside and corner Dad right away. " I bet he'll say yes!"

"Geez, Sammy, why do you care so much about this dumb dance, anyway?"

"Ummm, it doesn't matter."

"Yeah, right. You've got something crazy going on in that furry little head of yours about this dance. Now spill."

Sam looked around the kitchen for a moment, jiggling his leg until Dean stared him into confessing. "See, I told Tommy that you were a way better big brother than his big brother, and he told me uh-uh no way, and I told him yes way and that my brother could beat up his brother, and he said his brother could beat up you which he totally couldn't, and then we decided that was stupid because you'd get in big trouble for fighting, and we don't want our big brothers to get in trouble, so he bet me his big brother could dance with more girls than you could, and I said you could dance with way more girls than his brother, but if you don't go to the dance you can't dance with any girls at all, and then his brother will win, so you gotta go to the dance, Dean, come on!"

Sam gasped for breath and looked at Dean with those pleading puppy dog eyes of his. Dean figured he ought to be immune to those by now, but he never seemed to manage it. He dropped his head down onto his science book and groaned, "Okay, okay, I'll go."

One week later:

Sam sat in the back seat of the Impala, watching his brother walk out of the middle school. "There he is, Dad!"

"Yeah, I see him, son."

As soon as Dean opened the door and sat down in the front seat, Sam was up, leaning over the seat to talk in Dean's face. "So, how many girls did Tommy's brother dance with?"

"Oh, four or five."

That sounded like kind of a lot to Sam, but he had faith in his brother. "How many did you dance with?"

Dean turned around and grinned at Sam. "Fourteen. And one teacher."

"Yaaaaay!" Sam threw himself back into his seat in delight and then jumped up and leaned back over the seat again. "Play it, Dad! Play it!"

Dean looked over at his father, who grinned and popped a tape into the car stereo as they drove away. The rest of the sixth-graders at John Quincy Adams Middle school heard three voices singing with the radio inside the old black car as it drove away.

"We are the champions! We are the champions! No time for losers 'cause we are the champions…of the world!"


End file.
